SECOND HOME
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- Parts 52
The Murphy house had always been her second home.
Sleepovers sprawled across the living room rug. Movie nights with popcorn bowls bigger than her. Lazy summer afternoons by the pool.
But that was before.
Before she grew up.
Before she noticed him.
And before he started noticing her back.
It hit her like a punch when she walked through the door that summer.
Mr. Murphy - Alex - standing by the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up, glass of bourbon in hand, silver streaking his dark hair, that solid, broad frame filling the space like he owned it. Which, of course, he did.
His eyes flicked up.
And for the first time, he didn't look at her like a kid.
The air shifted.
The polite, fatherly smile never quite reached his eyes.
No - his gaze dropped, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of her hips in her tight sundress, lingering on the bare stretch of her thighs, before crawling back up.
It lasted seconds.
It ruined everything.
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